


Corruptio Optimi Pessima

by sellswordking



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 23:19:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1666172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sellswordking/pseuds/sellswordking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tucker has to talk to Grif about the comment he made before training.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corruptio Optimi Pessima

When Tucker found Grif, he was--predictably--in the mess hall. His tray was about half empty, so apparently he’d been there for a while.

“Hey Grif.” Tucker sat across from him.

“‘Sup, man.”

“About what . . . happened today. What you said.” It was hard to keep the poison out of his voice. Tucker had always liked Grif, he was a chill dude and they could always sit and talk about whatever, and Grif never really seemed to care either way about the stuff Tucker had to say. It was weirdly comforting. But that crack he made about Cunningham and Rogers. He couldn’t just let it go.

“What, about the dudes that died on the mission?” Grif’s eyes were dull as ever, like he was talking about the fucking weather or something.

“Rogers and Cunningham. They had _names_ , asshole. They were just kids, I get that I fucked up but--”

“Let me stop you right there, Tucker.” Grif took a massive bite of his sandwich, and Tucker sat watching him chew it for ten fucking minutes before he decided to get to the point. “I’m just gonna say that I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck about your guilt, the guys you got killed, or any of that shit. So if you came here for an apology or something, you’re gonna be _super_ disappointed.”

Tucker could only sit in shock.

Grif’s apathy was legendary, yeah, but Tucker had no idea he could actually be heartless. He reached across the table and smacked the sandwich out of Grif’s hand before he could take another bite.

“What the fuck is your problem? These guys are helping us get our friends back and you’re acting like they’re just cannon fodder or something.”

Grif blinked slowly and made a point of picking up his chips. “ _Your_ friend." He corrected. "Wash is _your_ friend, Tucker.”

“Yeah, and Sarge and Donut are--”

“Only _my_ problem because _Simmons_ gives a shit for some weird reason.” Tucker startled at the cold tone Grif had taken on. More disturbing than that was how he put the stupid bag down. “Donut is someone I tolerate because he keeps ending up back in my life somehow, like an annoying pet that you just can’t get rid of. And Sarge? That asshole constantly talks about wanting me dead; he _brainwashed_ Simmons into pointing a fucking gun at me in his sleep.”

“But I’ve heard Simmons talk about killing you too, Grif, and Caboose actually fucking _shot_ Church! We thought he was dead for years, we even joked about it!” Tucker was confused, he’d never seen this side of Grif before--he didn’t even know it existed.

“Yeah, well, you were there on Sidewinder. When the Meta grabbed me I thought I was gonna fucking _die_ , Simmons couldn’t hold me up and when I slipped it was barely able to save my own ass. Sarge thought I _was_ dead, and what did he do?” Tucker tried to answer, but Grif cut him off. He was _furious_. “He was ready to forget me, Tucker, and don’t you _dare_ say it was a joke. Simmons was devastated and Sarge didn’t give a fuck, after all that shit about why we’re here and our potential--he was a leader for all of ten minutes before fucking me over the _one time_ he should’ve been serious. He hates me, and I hate him.” Grif stood up from the table and grabbed the bag of chips and two of the unopened beers that were left.

“The only reason I’m still here is because _Simmons_  needs him. If not, you bet your ass I would have thrown him in the first ship I saw and been gone before you could blink. Simmons is my only priority. I’ll go along with this shit if it makes him happy. This army of people I’ve never even heard of before, fighting for a cause I don’t care about? I’d sacrifice every single one of them for him without losing a second of sleep. As long as he's safe in my bed at night, none of this, or _your_ , bullshit matters to me.”

Grif walked out, leaving Tucker to sit in shock and silence, wondering what the hell war had done to all of them.

 


End file.
